Jinnie Bakerville

# Chapter 35: Jinnie Bakerville

"At least thirty cavalry broke through the main gate. From the manor grounds to the dungeon, there are traces of fierce fighting everywhere."

At Weed Manor, Lord Seychelles—a knight under the banner of the Tricolor Iris, clad in cyan-etched plate armor—furrowed his brow tightly as he ran his gauntleted hand over the iron gate, warped from the impact of the assault.

Many of the knights around him fanned out, searching the corpse-strewn yet long-abandoned Weed Manor, trying to find even a shred of evidence.

The thinning-haired Lord Seychelles spoke with measured caution:

"A large-scale battle broke out between both sides. At least half an hour ago, this place was likely in chaos. Clearly, the Blood Race lost the fight. The corpses on the ground are only Blood Thralls, matching the number reported when the fleet shipped them across the sea."

"Judging by the wounds on the bodies, the attackers used high-purity silver weapons. They came prepared."

"The Corleone Family's Blood Race are all gone. If they weren't wiped out and their bodies taken, then they were either captured alive or fled—or some combination of the three. Either way, we no longer need to worry about the secret they were hiding—whether it fell into enemy hands or was destroyed beyond trace."

But none of those outcomes were good—Seychelles's heart sank as his iron-gloved right hand touched his thinning hair.

Another voice came from behind: "The only good news is that the Duke never planned to deploy them, so they knew nothing of our plans or movements."

Lord Cassian—another titled knight, his appearance immaculate—rose from beside a Blood Thrall corpse on the ground and looked at Seychelles.

"This is my fault. I'll go apologize to His Grace the Duke shortly." The neatly groomed Knight Cassian's face was grim beyond measure, but the noble knight did not shirk his responsibility. His expression was solemn, his voice restrained:

"I overlooked that large cavalry unit we spotted on the road. In hindsight, they were the ones who raided Weed Manor. If we had marched at full speed back then, we might have intercepted them."

But Seychelles didn't think so. His instincts told him that this cavalry unit that had raided Weed Manor was highly suspicious—even if they had intercepted that force, it might not have ended well.

Even if both he and Cassian were Termination Knights at the Extreme Realm.

But Seychelles knew this wasn't the time to wound his friend, who was already consumed by self-reproach over his earlier carelessness.

"Two issues need resolving." Seychelles's gaze swept across the mottled manor walls as he stepped inside.

"First, who are they."

"Second, why did they come."

Cassian followed his friend into the hall. Though he had smelled the heavy stench of blood earlier, he still couldn't help turning his face away when he saw the bloody scene inside.

Unlike Seychelles, who had served as a Mercenary in the Eastern Continent and lived by the blade daily, Cassian came from a far better background than his colleague. Back when the Old Duke personally knighted him, he had just graduated from Terminus Tower as an outstanding Terminus Swordsman—a brash young man with a bright future ahead.

Since becoming an Extreme Realm knight, Cassian had been far too long removed from bloodshed outside of tournament grounds.

"We should dispatch men immediately for a full-scale pursuit. Maybe we can pick up traces of these cavalry." Cassian looked with disgust at the corpse on the table, drained of blood, and frowned:

"If they belong to some family, slipping into the various noble estates of the DC District would be the perfect cover."

But his colleague, Lord Seychelles, shook his head. He recalled the rabbits that scurried everywhere across the galloping plains of the Eastern Continent—no matter how many clever traps the herders of the Kiseri Tribe laid, the rabbits always found a way to survive.

Their only natural enemies were the Sky Falcons that soared overhead, taking in everything below.

Seychelles followed the blood trail toward the dungeon and voiced his objection: "We're already conspicuous enough. Send men to search every estate in the DC District? By the time we've offended the entire upper crust of the Star Kingdom, we might just find our leads."

"Since we can't pin down their identity, we'll have to figure out why they came." Cassian picked up an Eternal Lamp, covered his mouth and nose, cursed these gluttonous vampires, and descended the stone stairs into the blood-reeking dungeon. His muffled voice echoed between the dim walls:

"This place was lent to the Blood Bottle Gang as a temporary base to host and hide the Corleone Family's experts. But neither Nekla nor the Corleones are anywhere to be found."

"The Blood Bottle Gang is backed by us and the Kulen Family—that's an open secret in our circles. As for the Corleone Family's support, we've always communicated in secret. If they're discovered, it could lead back to our plans."

"Every family involved in 'New Star' knows something about that plan, so that's not a concern," Lord Seychelles analyzed calmly as he walked through the thick, bloody air without the slightest discomfort. "I've already sent men to report to His Grace the Duke. The Blood Bottle Gang's contact will arrive soon. But what secret is the Corleone Family hiding that would attract such a group?"

Cassian held up the Eternal Lamp, struggling to maintain his composure, and stopped at a pile of rubble in the dungeon, looking around with confusion.

It was clear that this rubble had once been a cell. But now it was completely transformed:

It looked as though it had suffered terrible destruction—iron bars, chains, and wall stones were shattered into fine pieces, scattered haphazardly across the cramped cell.

As if someone had ground it to dust.

"The dungeon is also the Blood Race's blood bank," Seychelles said coldly. "Seems someone didn't like it here."

"Whether it was the vampires, the Blood Bottle Gang, or even the invaders—why would they—destroy the dungeon like this? Out of spite?" Cassian asked, puzzled.

"The dungeon wasn't destroyed by them." Seychelles picked up a small black piece of mysterious stone material, carved with strange patterns and text, his expression grave: "This was a cell—I suspect some terrifying figure imprisoned here broke free, and that cavalry unit that charged in worked with him from within and without to 'cleanse' this blood-soaked manor."

If Tales were here, he would have applauded this thinning-haired knight: his guess was frighteningly close to the truth.

"To pulverize it to this degree," Cassian said, frowning deeply as he examined the destruction, "only an Extreme Realm expert could manage."

"No." Seychelles's eyes suddenly turned strange and uneasy as he held the mysterious black fragment: "Judging by its shape, this stone was likely part of some kind of restraint."

"I suspect this restraint was what held that mysterious person captive."

The next moment, the black stone in his left hand was tossed into the air.

Seychelles's eyes sharpened, and the Cross Guard longsword at his left hip flashed from its sheath in an instant.

The clear, sharp blade sliced through the mysterious black stone.

In that instant, there was no sound.

One second later, invisible, formless ripples spread through the narrow dungeon as the air compressed.

Tearing deep, massive fissures into the surrounding walls!

Cassian behind him nodded in admiration. This perfect stroke had flawlessly blended precision, speed, and finesse—even the Flower of the Fortress could hardly have done better.

The sound of the blade cutting stone finally came.

Clang!

The noise was crisp, sparks flying everywhere.

Boom!

The gale stirred up by the sword swing now reached their ears just in time.

Where Seychelles' blade momentum struck, the walls shed a layer of earth and stone in unison. Where the gale passed, the prison cell was instantly choked with dust!

The Eternal Lamp in Cassian's hand was snuffed out by the gale on the spot.

The gale faded.

Seychelles' expression remained unmoved as he sheathed his sword.

Cassian covered his mouth and nose. Though he loathed the dust, he still relit the Eternal Lamp, bent down, and sifted through the rubble.

When Cassian brought the black mysterious stone before Seychelles, the two exchanged a glance.

Both Termination Knights of the Extreme Realm saw shock and fear in each other's eyes.

The black stone, struck by the blade of an Extreme Realm master, now lay intact and unscathed in Cassian's hand.

They were silent for a long time, until Cassian spoke with difficulty:

"It seems I was wrong again. With this level of destructive power—"

Cassian turned his head, his face ashen, and looked at the shattered cell, full of disbelief:

"Even an Extreme Realm master couldn't do it!"

Eleven o'clock at night.

In the bedroom on the third floor of Mindis Hall, the subject of discussion between the two Extreme Realm knights of Weed Manor—having escaped great peril and now neatly dressed again—sat awkwardly on the bed.

He stared blankly at the court official before him, a woman in her forties whose charm remained undimmed, with a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, as she—scolded people.

A pity, Tales thought—if only she were a bit gentler.

"Is this how you look after the Heir to the Kingdom?"

"Are you savages or what?"

"His Majesty entrusted you with his bloodline! The future of the Star Kingdom! Not a Grey Basilisk you could just toss on an island and let live!"

"You couldn't even take care of a Grey Basilisk like this!"

The dignified court official roared with authority, berating His Majesty the King's two most trusted subordinates, Count Gilbert Casso and Guard Yordel Gato, while the latter two docilely bowed their heads, accepting her reprimand.

"His daily meals are just bread and beef? Do you know he's at an age where he needs to grow!"

"Have you ever given him a bath? Don't tell me wiping him with clean water counts as one!"

"Can't you see his body is covered in wounds that need careful care? Bandages? What's that?"

"Didn't you teach him how to dress properly? Don't use 'no time' as an excuse!"

"What bedding did you get him? This kind of blanket and pillow is a child-killer!"

"You forbade him from being in the open? Do you know how important sunlight is for growth!"

"Safety? Don't make excuses! Wasn't he taken right under your noses when he was indoors?"

"Move that vampire little girl's room a hundred meters away! What? No such room? Then go dig one out right now!"

"Starting tomorrow, aside from protection and teaching, stay ten meters away from him!"

"You two useless men!"

After a long while, when Jinnie's furious lecture finally ended, she drove the two "useless men" out of Tales' room ("Go prepare everything on the list immediately!"—Jinnie), then suddenly turned back.

Startled, Tales, who had been sitting on the bed drinking water from a glass and enjoying the show, shrank back half a meter.

Seeing the lingering severity in Jinnie's eyes, the boy recalled the homeroom teacher from his high school days in his memory.

But Jinnie only looked at Tales with hesitation and complexity, finally letting out a soft sigh.

She forced a faint smile and tried to be gentle:

"Don't be afraid, Tales."

"You're very safe now, and you'll stay safe."

"For this month at Mindis Hall, I'll be fully in charge of your daily life."

Tales swallowed a mouthful of water and nodded: "Thank you, um—"

Jinnie gently took over his words:

"I'm Jinnie Bakerville, First-Class Court Official, your father's loyal friend, subject, and... well, how to put it..." Here, Jinnie paused, as if thinking something over.

But in the end, she raised an eyebrow, as if to say "I've found the word," and decisively added:

"...and his lover."

Tales couldn't hold it in and directly sprayed a mouthful of water onto the bed.

Not far from Mindis Hall, on a certain road, Yordel materialized out of the void and knelt on one knee before a sturdy, imposing figure.

"You should go in and take a look," Yordel said hoarsely.

But the sturdy figure only remained silent.

A long moment passed.

"Just like twelve years ago," the sturdy figure finally spoke slowly, "you always do inexplicable things."

Yordel knew he wasn't referring to the matter of Weed Manor.

"But you dispatched Gilbert here," Yordel said, lowering his head slightly. "You're hesitating too."

The sturdy figure was silent for a long time.

In the end, he looked up once at the lamplight in the third-floor room, then turned decisively and left, surrounded by a group of elite guards in silver armor and masked faces.

Leaving only the lone figure of the Masked Guard, kneeling in the moonlight.